


Here is the wound where the light bleeds in

by Annfan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Cannon Divergent, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Rough Sex, Season 1, Smut, during the dropship days, post 1x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27058420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annfan/pseuds/Annfan
Summary: After the events of Murphy's Law, Clarke finds herself with Bellamy in the bunker instead of Finn.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 242





	Here is the wound where the light bleeds in

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first ever Bellarke fic and it ended up being super smutty. Oops. Basically some good old season 1 new co-leaders having sex. What could have been (and lets be real, what we all wished for) had Bellamy been in that bunker and not Finn. 
> 
> Title from a poem by Keaton St. James.

Clarke can’t breathe. She remembers the way the kids had looked at her and Bellamy earlier that night, crowed around the fire, how they listened to both of them with rapt attention. God how she had wanted to gather them all around that fire again, give them the good news that they had finally contacted the Ark, that help was on the way.

She never should have gotten her hopes up. She never should have been foolish enough to think that Earth would grant her even a single lucky break.

“I’m so sorry.” Monty buries his head in his hands, staring despondently at the fried wristband.

Finn storms out. Jasper just sinks to the ground. Octavia stares at the wall. She might not care much about anyone on the Ark, but she knows the rest of them still have families, people they love just as much as she loves Bellamy.

“I need some air.” Clarke throws her backpack over her shoulder. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.” Her voice sounds hollow, even to herself. Octavia is the only one that acknowledges her with a short nod.

Clarke moves like she is on autopilot. She doesn’t know where she’s going, she just knows she can’t be here right now. She stalks past the bonfire, a few kids still huddled around. They look up at her expectantly as she passes. She can’t meet any of their eyes.

She doesn’t stop walking until she gets to the fence, where she pauses a moment, and then decides to keep on walking.

“Hey, whoa, where do you think you’re going at this time of night?”

Bellamy is at the edge of the wall, staring off into the dark of the forest, leaning against a handmade spear.

Clarke tries to sidestep past him but like arm shoots out like a viper, hand wrapping firmly around her wrist just like it had a few weeks ago, when he demanded she take off her wristband.

“Get the fuck off me Bellamy.” She twists her arm sharply against his thumb, wrenching herself away from his grasp.

He holds his hands up, backing down slightly, but still blocking her exit with his body. “It’s dangerous, and stupid to go out alone in the middle of the night. You know that.”

“Why do you care?” Clarke spits. “I screwed up, I accused Murphy in front of everyone, after you told me not to. It’s my fault Charlotte’s dead.”

Bellamy stills and scrubs a hand over his face, like he’s trying to rub away the horrible events of the night. “Clarke…”

“Whatever Bellamy, I just need…” Clarke gestures at the camp. “To not be here right now. Finn and I found a small bunker not far from here earlier. I’m going to go see if there’s any supplies.”

Clarke knows good and well there is nothing particularly useful to them at the bunker, but she just needs to get the hell out of camp right now.

“Not alone you aren’t.” Bellamy crosses his arms, stubborn as always.

Clarke squints her eyes. She can be just a stubborn, goddamn it. She slams his shoulder with a particularly hard shove and pushes her way out of the camp boundaries. “Fine, then come with me if you want, I don’t care. You aren’t stopping me.”

She doesn’t expect him to actually follow her. She expects him to concede, to back down and go return to lording over the camp or whatever it was he was doing. But instead he grumbles and she hears the heavy stomp of his boots behind her. He shouts to Mbege to take his spot on guard duty and starts off into the woods with her.

Clarke refuses to look at Bellamy, keeps her eyes steeled ahead, tugging her makeshift backpack higher up on her shoulders. She’s trying not to think too hard about everything that’s just happened, about Well’s being dead, about Murphy and Charlotte, and the failed attempt to contact the Ark.

She’s afraid that when she finally gets to the bunker she’s going to break down and start crying. Screw Bellamy for coming along, because the last thing she wants is for Bellamy Blake to see her cry.

They don’t speak the whole way to the bunker. She walks faster than she should, probably making more noise than is safe. She hears Bellamy huffing to keep up with her, trying to stay close enough to see the way that her tiny solar lantern is illuminating.

When they finally reach their destination, Clarke throws open the door to the bunker and stomps down the ladder without a word.

“What is this place?” Bellamy asks, the same question that she had asked Finn earlier.

Clarke still doesn’t look at him, makes herself busy lighting the candles on the small table in front of the old, tattered sofa. “A fallout shelter. Whoever owned it didn’t make it here in time.”

Bellamy looks around, inspecting the bare furnishings that are covered with a thick layer of dust. “Doesn’t look like there’s much here.”

Clarke picks up a can of food she already knows is expired and pretends to inspect the label. “No,” she says. “There’s not.”

“Hey, does the shower work?” Bellamy starts towards the back of the bunker.

Clarke already knows it doesn’t, but she lets him check anyway. She knows he’s thinking the same thing she did earlier, how nice a shower would be. They had hot showers, and soap, even in factory station on the Ark. The hundred had made trips to bathe in the small creek with the waterfall just the day before, guys and girls taking turns. But while it did feel better to be clean, standing naked and shivering under the small waterfall, scrubbing at her body with grainy mud to scrape away the dead skin cells, just hadn’t had the same relaxing effect.

Clarke is so tired. She’s tired of being cold, and dirty, and hungry, and not having a bed to sleep on. She’s tired of having to fight so hard to stay alive. She sinks down onto the sofa and stares into the flickering light of the candles.

“Nope. Doesn’t work.” Bellamy announces. He sticks his head back into the main room to see Clarke sitting down, undoubtedly looking despondent.

He sighs, sounding just as weary as he feels. He makes his way over to Clarke, his flickering shadow dancing over the wall. He looms over her, even more than he usually does, before sitting next to her. Up close, in the candlelight, Clarke can see just how worn Bellamy really looks. There are dark circles under his eyes, lips no longer carrying his characteristic smirk.

They sit there a moment, quietly. Neither of them knows what to say. It’s not like they’ve ever really talked to each other before, not in any way that wasn’t a debate. Clarke expects the silence to be fraught with tension, just like all their other interactions are. But it isn’t. It’s comfortable, in a way that’s almost unnerving. Bellamy isn’t someone she should ever be _comfortable_ with.

Clarke is the first one to speak. “She stabbed Wells in the neck…in the jugular.” It has finally dawned on her, just another cruel and terrible realization to add to this nightmare of a day. “Just like I killed Atom, Bellamy. She learned how to kill…from me.”

“Hey, hey.” Bellamy reaches over, places his hand on her thigh, just above her knee, large and heavy. His knuckles are still scraped and bruised from where he was punching Murphy’s face in earlier. “It’s not your fault. You did the right thing with Atom,” He says firmly. “You did. Besides, I gave Charlotte the knife. I’m just as responsible as you are.”

It’s a lot, Bellamy Blake taking responsibility for something, comforting her. Clarke doesn’t know what to think of it. It doesn’t mesh with the view she’s had of him up until this point, as a power-hungry egotistical jerk who never admits wrongdoing.

Clarke stands up swiftly, makes her way to the center of the room, head spinning. Bellamy stands too, hesitantly, hand that had been on her leg dropping uselessly to his side.

Despite all their fighting and bickering, Bellamy does grant her a certain amount of respect. Clarke is older than a lot of the others in camp, a few weeks away from turning eighteen, but not an adult in the undeniable way Bellamy is. He doesn’t treat her like a child though, he treats her like an equal, even if as an equal he hates some of the time.

Clarke might have pushed and shoved her way into it, but she does have a certain amount of authority over the delinquents. They look to her, rely on her. Her and Bellamy. She knows tonight, especially, has marked a certain, definite point in their slow and ever-closening orbit into co-leadership. Tonight was the collision point.

_And who makes the rules huh? You?_

_For now, **we** make the rules. _

It’s not Clarke versus Bellamy anymore. It’s Clarke and Bellamy, together. Leading, responsible for keeping the remainder of the hundred alive on a planet that seems to desperately be trying to kill them. Responsible for them just like she tried to be for Wells, for Atom, for Charlotte. It’s too much, it’s all too much.

Clarke never wanted this, but she couldn’t turn away, couldn’t back down from it. She remembers to back on the Ark, which could be just as deadly as Earth had proven to be, but was more pristine, more ordered in it’s harshness. She had been working on a group project for school, frustrated with her partners’ ineptitude.

_Sometimes if you want things done right, Clarke, you have to do them yourself,_ her mother had said. _You have to be the one that takes charge, and gets it done._

So, that’s what Clarke had decided to do on Earth, take charge. She had told herself that all she had to do was keep everyone alive until the rest of their people came down. Until the adults could take over again, and she go back to letting someone else be in charge, go back to being a kid. Now she isn’t sure that’s ever going to happen. Now she isn’t sure they are ever coming down.

Clarke doesn’t realize she’s hyperventilating until she feels Bellamy’s hand on her shoulder this time. She flings it away wildly, and he looks startled.

“Clarke, are you okay?” There it is again, the concern.

“No, Bellamy! I’m not okay!” She practically shouts. “None of this okay! Don’t you get it? They are all going to die up there, and we are all alone. We are all alone down here!”

“We’re not alone.” Bellamy shouts back, but she sees the flicker of doubt in eyes. For all his bravado, she saw the despair in his face earlier, when Charlotte jumped off the cliff, when he realized there was nothing he could do. He might be older than her, but he is fumbling through this leadership thing just as much as she is.

“We’re not alone.” Bellamy says again, a low mutter this time, eyes hot on hers. “ _You_ are not alone.”

She stares back at him wildly, because he doesn’t understand. How could he? He has Octavia, he doesn’t care if anyone else comes down. She doesn’t have anyone. Her best friend is dead, her father is dead, and her mother will be soon.

Just as Clarke is starting to hyperventilate again he surges forward, pressing his lips firmly to hers. She gasps and he takes that as an invitation, licking his way into her mouth, large hand coming up to tangle in her hair. Clarke should pull away, should shove him back and tell him she’s not one of his fucking rotating harem of girls, but she can’t find the strength too. She’s so tired, and it feels so good. She hasn’t felt anything good since before she got locked up in the skybox.

Bellamy finally ends the kiss, and they lean together, heavy and panting. He has the decency to look a little shocked at his own behavior, like he hadn’t really thought it through before he did it. Not that Bellamy ever really thinks though any of his actions. He is all fiery impulse, all the time.

Clarke, on the other hand, thinks too much about everything. She just wants it to stop. And that…kissing Bellamy, made it stop. She leans up this time, kissing him again, desperate to feel his mouth on hers, feel the hard planes of his body pressed up against her.

Clarke doesn’t think about it at all as she tears off her shirt. She doesn’t think at all as she unclips her bra and throws it unceremoniously on the floor. For once Clarke doesn’t think about what her people need, what Ark needs, or the camp. She just lets herself _want_.

As she looks up at Bellamy she sees the same greed reflected in his eyes. He pulls off his own shirt just as fast as she had hers, and then he is crowding into her, his stare dark as he brushes a hand up her ribs, grazing the bottom of her breast. She trembles.

Clarke lets him guide her on to the mattress, melts down as he sinks into her. He’s going too slow, though, touches and kisses too tender, and she struggles against it, trying to rock into him.

“C’mon,” he says, breaking away from her lips momentarily. “Let me take care of you.”

Clarke bites at him, just a little mean and winds her fingers through his thick curls and tugs, because she’s not one to ever go down without a fight. “Do it then.” She goads.

Clarke doesn’t miss the ever so slight groan that escapes his mouth at the pressure on his scalp, but he quickly regains his composure. Before she has time to do anything else, he shoves her all the way back down, her shoulder blades pressed to the mattress.

“Oh, that’s how its going to be, huh, Princess?” Bellamy mocks. His smile grows wolfish as he cages her in with his body.

Clarke briefly registers that she should be afraid, she shouldn’t let herself be vulnerable like this, trapped under a man who threatened to cut her hand off less than two weeks again. But any of those rational thoughts are quickly banished as soon as his presses his body up against hers, hot and firm. He smells like lingering camping smoke and pine needles and sweat.

He suckles on a spot on her neck, a little too much teeth to be gentle, but everything on Earth has it’s sharp edges, especially Bellamy Blake. Clarke had never seen him before on the Ark that she can remember, and honestly, she can’t imagine him there. He _belongs_ on Earth— raw, and animalistic, and passionate. Big in a way the Ark’s confines never could have truly accepted.

Bellamy makes his way down from her neck, lips pressing over he collarbone, and down farther. He laps at one nipple, wet and soothing, while he pinches the other harshly, rubbing it between his fingers. Clarke keens, squirming to get more pressure on the leg he has worked between her own.

Suddenly his leg retreats, and she whines at the loss. Bellamy drags his mouth down between the valley of her breasts, over the smooth curve her abdomen, and then he is sitting back on his heels, tugging her cargo pants and underwear off roughly. Thankfully her boots have zippers, so those don’t take him long either.

Bellamy takes his own pants and boots off quickly as well, but not quickly enough. Clarke is already starting to work her own hand down between her legs. She dips her fingers into her core, where she’s already drenched with wet.

Bellamy looks up, glaring at her. He’s lightening fast as he grabs her offending hand and pins her wrist to mattress beside her head.

“Couldn’t have a little patience?” He admonishes.

Clarke bucks up against him, too far gone to care about seeming desperate. “Please Bellamy.”

“I told you I’d take care of you.” Bellamy shushes her, thumbing at her bottom lip. “Be good for me.”

Clarke nods, her compliance to him coming far too easily, and lets him put his own hand where she’s warm and aching.

“God, you’re wet.” Bellamy hisses.

She nods, unable to deny the obvious even if she wanted to. He sinks a finger into her without much preamble. God, his hands are _huge._ Much bigger than her own, which is all she had in the year she was imprisoned.

Bellamy thumbs at her clit, curling his finger inside her sharply.

“Think you can take another?” It’s phrased like a challenge, and Clarke never backs down from a challenge.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Please.”

He adds a second finger, working her open, and Clarke moans. His face nuzzles into the side of hers, his teeth nipping lightly at her jaw.

“You’re so _fucking_ tight.” Bellamy whispers in her ear. “Like a goddamn vice on my fingers.” He hesitates, slowing suddenly as Clarke turns her head away from him, the building pleasure overwhelming her.

“Have you ever…?” He asks softly. Clarke guesses based on which of the delinquents she’s seen leaving his tent that Bellamy isn’t accustomed to fucking virgins.

“Yes.” Clarke still has enough presence of mind to roll her eyes. “I’ve had sex, but I’ve just never…not with a guy, not like that.”

“You’ve never taken a cock before?”

“Yeah, that.” She blushes, and he might not be able to see it, but he can definitely feel her squirming.

“That’s okay Princess,” he says, voice rough. “You’ll take mine.”

_God._ Clarke arches up into him.

Bellamy scissors his fingers inside her, and then he fucks them into her with a quick snap. She jolts, her own hand gripping blindly at the worn sheets under them.

“Good girl,” Bellamy praises her. “You’re taking my fingers so well.”

“I can’t…” Clarke thrashes. She’s so dangerously close to the edge that it hurts. “Please… I need…”

“Yes you can, I’ve got you. I know what you need.” Bellamy pets at her hip with his other hand. “Gonna make you come first, get you nice and ready, and then I’ll fuck you and make you come again, I promise.”

It doesn’t take him long to make good on the first half of his promise. Clarke’s so keyed up that it only takes a few more harsh thrusts of his fingers, and her whole body is tensing up, hot with relief.

Clarke falls limp, relaxed but still aching, feeling even more empty than before when he draws his fingers out. He brings them up to his mouth, sucks them clean, before moving down to stroke his cock which is pressing hard against her leg.

Bellamy smooths a hand soothingly over her hair. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Clarke manages. “Please, want you to fuck me.”

“Okay.” Bellamy nods, and lines himself up with her entrance.

Clarke looks down, sees the obscenely hot picture of his cock pressed up against her swollen cunt. He’s big. She’s only ever seen and touched one other dick, and it was nothing compared to him.

“Relax.” He commands, and it’s easier said than done.

Clarke worries her bottom lip between her teeth, tries to let him push into her at his own speed and not tilt up into him like she desperately wants to.

He pushes the tip into her and she jolts instinctively, the sweet stretch almost overwhelming. “I’ve got you,” he breathes, muscled arm wrapping around her, hand cupping her neck as he pulls her back down towards him.

It feels like he is splitting her open and it’s so, so _good._

Bellamy digs his fingers into her hip, trying to control his slow, steady push into her. Her hip will probably bruise tomorrow. She hopes it does.

“Just breathe.” He urges.

She complies, a soft hiss of air between her teeth.

“There we go. You’re doing so good.”

“Keep going.” Clarke hisses. She can feel herself opening up to him, and Bellamy must be able to feel it to, because he pushes the rest of the way in, smoothly and swiftly.

Clarke crushes her face into the side of his neck, bites lightly at his shoulder as he works up a rhythm. He starts fucking her in earnest, hard and fast. It’s perfect, and consuming, and Clarke doesn’t think about anything else. For now it’s just her, and Bellamy, and everything they are giving and taking from each other.

Bellamy’s hand works his way down to her clit. He rubs at her, hard and quick, just this side of painful, and exactly what Clarke needs to push her over the edge again.

“There we go Princess.” His voice cracks as she clenches around him.

A few moments later Bellamy spills inside her with a throaty grunt, chest heaving. Clarke is just coherent enough to be glad that she had an implant put in before she got locked up and sent down to Earth.

Bellamy manages to pull away as Clarke flops back onto the mattress, feeling absolutely boneless. He comes back with a not-too-dusty cloth and wipes her down, nuzzling at her neck gently.

Afterwards Clarke curls up into him and he lets her. It’s uncharacteristically tender for the both of them, she knows that. She knows the way they are holding each other is dangerously close to affection for two people that aren’t even close to being friends. But she just can’t bring herself to care. Bellamy can’t seem to either.

“So,” he says, “how was it?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. As if he didn’t already get some pretty clear feedback on his performance for being her first penetrative sex.

“10/10, best I’ve ever had.” She snarks.

Bellamy chuckles into her hair. “Well look at that. The princess does have a sense of humor.”

“Oh come on.” She complains. “Why does everyone think that just because I don’t want us all to die, I can’t be fun? Dying isn’t very fun.”

“Fair point.” Bellamy grins salaciously, eyebrows raised as he looks down at their still naked bodies. “Don’t worry though Princess, I’d definitely say you’re fun.”

“Shut up.” Clark says, but there’s no real malice behind it.

He does in fact shut up, and they lay there in comfortable silence as a few of the candles flicker out. For the first time in far too long Clarke feels warm and safe, and something almost like happiness. Maybe, if they actually survive, she’ll get to feel real true happiness again one day.

“What are we going to do Bellamy?” Clarke whispers just before she succumbs to sleep.

“I don’t know.” Bellamy whispers back. “But we’ll figure it out, together.”

Clarke nods sleepily against his chest and lets the dark, which is peaceful for once, overtake her.

She wakes up in the morning to the loud crash of an escape pod hurtling into the earth, and an empty bed.


End file.
